


The Winter of Our Content

by tahariel



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Bath Sex, Cabin Fic, Hand Jobs, M/M, Paralysis, Post-Movie(s), Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-29
Updated: 2012-09-29
Packaged: 2017-11-15 07:28:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/524718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tahariel/pseuds/tahariel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not so much a booty call as letting Erik know when Charles will be in Aspen and free long enough for them to be together for a while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Winter of Our Content

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ninemoons42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninemoons42/gifts).



> Written as a birthday for the lovely PJ, who I hope will enjoy this little offering :3

Charles always winters in Aspen, when he’s in the States; he always has, first as a child when Mother would bring he and Raven with her as accessories for her parties, and even now in his forties when he has a school to run he still finds two weeks somewhere between November and February to spend in the plush, overdone cabin, taking in the crisp white snow and enjoying the quiet, freed of the obligation of being father and mentor and disciplinarian to nearly eighty needy students.

And if once he’s settled on a date for his vacation each year he sends a brief letter to an anonymous mailbox somewhere in Georgia, then Charles has plenty of money to pay for the postage, so it’s nobody’s business but his.

The bathroom door creaks when it opens. Charles doesn’t glance up from his book, just turns the page with careful deliberation while Erik stands beside the tub and looks his fill at Charles submerged in the steaming water, hungry-eyed and still snowdusted, gazing at the few choice parts of him visible between the tumbling clouds of bubbles obscuring the view.

Erik’s left the helmet out in the main room, and Charles can hear him taking in the lines of Charles’ body, the new lines on his face and grey in his hair, the slow-creeping recession of his hairline. The beloved mind is full of warm thoughts and the sudden sharp pang of love he always feels on first seeing Charles after a separation, the one that always shows on his face - Erik hates for anyone to see his expression just then, so Charles does him the kindness of not looking up until he has got over that first rush of bittersweet. Instead he finishes his chapter and marks his place with his finger before tipping his head back to look up at the dark-clad figure standing over him and lets his eyes crinkle as he smiles. “Darling,” he says, and tilts his mouth up into Erik’s kiss.

It’s soft, at first, a greeting, but Erik’s hand cups his jaw and it becomes possessive quickly, the initial sweetness burning away in the interests of making up for long absences. Charles moans as Erik’s tongue pushes into his mouth, tangling with his own and stroking and sucking until Charles drops his book entirely - onto the rug outside the bath, he hasn’t lost all of his faculties - to tangle his fingers in Erik’s damp hair, which is salt-and-pepper now but still thick and lush as ever. Erik kisses like he’s fucking Charles already, like a foregone conclusion, hot and demanding and conquering Charles’ mouth, biting at his lips and leaving them swollen.

“Take these off,” Charles says when they break apart for air, dropping his grip to Erik’s turtleneck and dragging it out from his waistband. He has to twist in the tub to get the right angle, limp legs less of an impediment when submerged.

Erik snorts, but disentangles himself from Charles and stands to his full height, reaches for the hem and pulls his turtleneck off over his head in one rough movement, dropping it untidily to the cold floorboards. His pants and shorts follow, kicked off along with his shoes, socks toed off in turn until Erik is gloriously naked beside Charles’ bathtub, summoned to his side as though there was never any question of his not coming when Charles called.

“Slide forward,” Erik says, and Charles uses the grab-bars to pull himself forward in the tub so that Erik can climb in behind him, long body folding up in the small space - the water sloshes between them, displaced and tidal - until he can put his hands on Charles’ sides, curling around his ribs, and tug Charles’ torso back against his own. His legs slide around on either side of Charles’ so they can lean against the side of the bath together, chest to back, Erik’s arms coming to rest around Charles’ soft middle.

It’s so quiet, all the traffic and voices and other minds far enough away to be a murmur at most, subsumed by the small sounds of Erik shifting, breathing, the warmth of them together in the warm water. Charles turns his head so he can rest his forehead against the line of Erik’s jaw, cheek tucked into the curve of his throat. He can feel the hard press of Erik’s cock against the small of his back, his own distant and sluggishly reacting to the nearness of this familiar body. This - this, here, is Charles’ favourite place, the two weeks he spends devoid of responsibility and tangled up in Erik, with nothing to do but love him.

The thought earns him a press of Erik’s mouth against his ear, more smile than kiss. “Put your arms around my neck,” Erik says.

Charles does as he’s told, reaching backwards above his head and bending to clasp his own wrists behind Erik’s neck - it arches his back, and once he’s left himself vulnerable Erik’s hands roam down his front, exploring with focused attention as though he expects something to have changed. He pinches Charles’ nipples with a firm sharp twist of his fingers and Charles lets out a shuddering cry - his nipples are very sensitive, ever since the accident, and Erik knows it, stroking the rough palm of his hand over them after, a light, rubbing pressure that has him shuddering, heat spreading through him that has nothing to do with the steaming bath. “I missed you,” Erik murmurs into Charles’ ear, petting his torso, then slides his hand down between Charles’ thighs and wraps his grip around Charles’ half-hard cock.

It’s far away but he still feels it when Erik drags his hand up the soft flesh, easy in the water, encouraging. It’s not a direct sensation but it stokes the heat inside of him, his body getting aroused without telling him so, and Charles moans, kisses Erik’s throat while Erik’s other hand curls around his hip, draws circles in the hollow of the bone with his thumb that Charles can only just feel, the sensation all but dead there but for the affection. The bulk of his body against Charles’ back moves with each breath, rocking them together in a slide of skin on skin.

“If you want to fuck me later then you’d better not get me off here,” Charles says, fingers curling as Erik strokes him again, both hands together, one on his cock and one caressing the centreline of his chest, tracing downward towards his navel. “I’m usually only good for one a night these days.”

“Since I’m usually giving you that one, I’m aware,” Erik says dryly, hand stilling between Charles’ legs until he’s just cupping him where he’s semi-hard, fingertips massaging gently where the flesh has give, tender and careful. “Maybe I want to make you come right here, Charles. I’m not entirely selfish, you know.”

“Not entirely, no,” Charles says, and laughs when Erik bites down on the tip of his ear, then tightens his grip behind Erik’s neck and uses it as a fulcrum to drag himself up against Erik’s body, rubbing his ass against Erik where he’s hard and throbbing. It earns him a low, rumbling groan, and Erik’s hips shove up against him hard, sloshing water over the side of the tub and onto the floor. “My book is going to get wet - ”

A snort. “I’ll get it.” Erik leans over the edge, arm tightening around Charles to keep him in place, and rescues the book, holding it up long enough to read the title before he reaches over and sets it on top of the toilet. “Now. Do you have any objections to coming in the bath or can I get on with it?”

Charles smiles, arching shamelessly as Erik’s hands come back to his torso, drawing lines everywhere he’s most sensitive. “Mmm, none.”

“Hmm,” says Erik, but there’s a warm, smiling fondness emanating from him along with the lust as he takes Charles’ cock back in hand and starts stroking again, patient with the sluggish response. “Whereas you are entirely selfish, it seems.”

“If a handsome man wants to pull me off in my nice warm bath, I’m not going to complain,” Charles says, and turns his head, pulling down with his linked arms so he can draw Erik down and himself up just enough for their mouths to meet. Erik’s mouth is hot and wet, and he groans as Charles sucks and bites at the narrow swell of his lower lip, drawing it between his own teeth and letting it slip back with a slick pop. The motion of Erik’s hand doesn’t slow, but distantly Charles feels it when the grip around his cock tightens - there’s a sudden headrush of diffuse arousal that floods through him, and his fingers curl behind Erik’s nape in lieu of his toes, a hot red flush spreading down his chest and highlighting all the faded freckles that rarely see the light of day.

He starts to loosen his grip and Erik’s spare hand comes up to wrap around his clasped hands, holding them where they are. “No, leave them.”

“But you - ”

“Let me,” Erik says, and lets go, moving that hand back to Charles’ chest, dragging his nails down his skin. They go back to kissing, and then there’s a ripple of the water as Erik’s hips start thrusting forward against Charles’ ass, rubbing his cock along the cleft between his buttocks. The combination of sensations is overwhelming - Charles moans, fully hard now and panting into Erik’s mouth, the water lapping at him, the press of Erik’s hands and body and their mouths, Erik’s focus entirely on Charles and nowhere else, a hot mess of images and thoughts and want that blends with Charles’ own, Erik letting him in. 

His whole body is electric, overhot, and his spine is tingling, a melting sensation that rises up inside him until he has to pull away from Erik’s mouth to gasp, eyes screwing tight shut as everything overflows, peaking and juddering through him like a lightning strike. The spurt of come from his penis is almost an afterthought, something barely associated with his orgasm, but the sight of it is enough to tip Erik over the edge, too, breath shaking, thrusting harder and coming with a rumbling groan, clutching at Charles hard enough to leave bruises as his hips fuck up against Charles’ ass and come splatters the small of his back, hotter and thicker than the bathwater.

They slump back against the porcelain, the heave of Erik’s lungs rocking Charles back and forth against him, his hammering heart thrumming against Charles’ shoulderblade where he’s twisted around to keep mouthing lazily at Erik’s lips, panting and sated. The water has cooled, and Erik stretches a thought to open the hot tap and let some fresh water run in, reheating them and avoiding the need to get out just yet.

“We could order in,” Charles says after a while, though he’s too relaxed to move, let alone consider drying off and getting dressed. “They deliver these days.”

Erik shifts, hooking his ankle around Charles’ to tug his limp leg into a more comfortable position. “Not in this weather. It was gearing up for a snowstorm when I arrived, they won’t be delivering anything tonight.”

“Good job I have you here to shovel the driveway, then.” Charles laughs at the disgruntled noise Erik makes, stays just where he is for a little longer before finally moving to get out.

“Give me a moment,” Erik says, and carefully untangles himself from Charles enough to climb out of the tub, stands there dripping and nude on the rug while he gets a towel laid out on Charles’ chair and unfolds his robe. He doesn’t ask before reaching into the water to tuck his arms around Charles’ body and lift him out, one arm under Charles’ thin thighs and the other supporting his back, and Charles doesn’t complain at being manhandled, just hooks his arm around Erik’s shoulders long enough to be placed carefully in his chair. He doesn’t lament the slow wastage of his legs, exposed now that he’s out of the water - Erik has seen them before, and spent hours kissing the line of Charles’ insensible calf with guilty adoration, the curve of his instep, the inside of his thigh, the sight alone enough to arouse Charles even if the sensation is gone. 

This time he simply reaches for his own towel and dries himself off, watches Erik do the same. The years have been kinder to him than they have been to Charles. Very little about Erik has changed in the past twenty years, save for the grey in his hair, and he was beautiful then and he is beautiful now, glancing down at Charles with a sly smile curling the corner of his mouth as though he is still surprised to be here, two decades later.

“How long do you have?” Charles asks, when he’s finished drying between his toes and has slipped on the thick pair of socks Jean gave him for Christmas.

“I’ll stay as long as you want me,” Erik replies, and though they both know that’s true only for the two weeks Charles himself can spare from the school, he smiles anyway, and leads Erik out into the main room where they can sit down together by the fire and talk about inconsequential things, stories from their respective trenches - Scott accidentally blasting a new window for the kitchen, Raven being mistaken for somebody’s high school friend in the middle of a mission (one Erik doesn’t, thankfully, share the details of), Hank’s slow inroads into the political sphere and the difficulties of getting a suit fitted that tones well with his fur. They more than make do with the frozen casserole Ororo had insisted Charles bring with him, and Erik retrieves a bottle of wine from the small cellar, though they have to warm it a little to make it potable.

The bed here is big enough for five people, built of rough-hewn wood to go with the rustic style of the rest of the cabin, and piled with enough layers of quilts and blankets to make a thick and luxurious nest. The mattress is still good but old enough to have a dip in the middle that always ends in the occupants being rolled together in a tangle by the darkest part of the night, close enough in the quiet to fantasise about being old-fashioned pioneers, alone out in the wilderness huddling for warmth and sharing body heat.

For a little while, at least, Charles can pretend that this is their life, and, when Erik looks up at him over his glass of wine, he judges himself well content.


End file.
